En garde
by annagallis
Summary: A short story set some years after the time when events in "The Scarlet Pimpernel" take place. A Blakeney Manor scene, with no smut and not much fluff, it's a slight thing...


The weather had prevented their leaving the house much for weeks: equinoctial storms and gales followed by days of torrential rain. The roads were virtually impassable; wet clothes and boots took hours to dry; the view from the house was of sodden parkland, dripping trees, and, below leaden skies, a swollen river. Once or twice he had ridden out, only to return soaked to the skin, and once, after his horse had slipped in the mud and become lame, not only soaked but almost completely caked in mud. Even he had finally acknowledged that he must try to contain his impatience and would have to resign himself to confinement indoors until the weather improved; but he had become increasingly fidgetty. Eventually, at breakfast one morning, he announced that he needed some exercise and that he would write to an acquaintance at White's and, provided she had no objection, would invite him to the Manor for a few days, with the intention – if the gentleman could accomplish the journey to Richmond – of suggesting that they should undertake a few hours' fencing in the Long Gallery every day.

She raised no objection but was clearly curious about why it should be necessary for him to obtain a fencing partner from London – were there no gentlemen living nearer who could fulfil the role?

He explained that the gentleman in question – newly returned, apparently, from travels abroad – had been spoken of as a master with a rapier; and moreover was a good match in stature and build to himself, and therefore would make a more challenging partner in the fence than most of his other friends and acquaintances: he was out of practice and needed to pit himself against a skilled swordsman. He also wished to show some kindness to the younger man – O'Dowd by name – who seemed to have no family in England and was still finding his feet in London. He thought he might be glad to come to Richmond, if the roads permitted travel so far out of the city.

So the invitation was duly issued and within two days had been gratefully accepted. The weather eased a little the following day and George O'Dowd arrived not much the worse for the journey, although it had taken much longer than would normally have been the case: having set off from London mid-morning, it was late in the afternoon before – with some relief ― he entered the gates of the park. Percy was genuinely glad to see him and he and Marguerite made him most welcome. Marguerite took to him, finding him pleasant company over dinner, if quiet and serious-minded. He declared himself keen to engage in some fencing practice with his host and they decided they would begin in earnest the next morning.

The day dawned dry and Marguerite took the opportunity to visit Suzanne, whom she had not seen for some time. When she returned there was no sign of her husband or their guest, and concluding that they must still be absorbed in their fencing practice, she climbed the main stairs to the top of the house; as she drew closer to the Long Gallery she could hear the clash and hiss of rapiers, the men's footsteps, an occasional grunt or exclamation.

Over his opponent's shoulder, Percy saw her step inside the doorway. Too late, O'Dowd saw his eyes flicker away from the rapier plunging towards him; it pierced his shirt and drew a gash across his upper arm. Instantly the blood flowered scarlet on his sleeve. O'Dowd stepped back, aghast; Marguerite cried out, "Percy, you are hurt!" and ran half the length of the gallery to her husband. He spoke: "Will you take this, O'Dowd" and held out his own sword; then he pulled the torn linen away from his arm and inspected the wound.

"As I thought: nothing too serious. Margot, we have _fleurets_ on our weapons – this wound is only a glancing blow from the edge of the sword, and my own fault entirely – a moment's lapse in concentration, that's all;", he said lightly. Then, catching sight of his opponent's expression, he said laughingly, "For God's sake, man, do not look so appalled! I am entirely to blame: this is purely the result of my own inattention. " Then, looking from O'Dowd to his wife, he said mischievously, "I always did tend to be distracted by a pretty face!"

"Percy!" she replied, "I beg you would not make mock. You should not be surprised if I am alarmed; and Mr O'Dowd is clearly concerned."

They both looked at the younger man, who was in a state of some anguish. He had been surprised and pleased to receive the invitation to Blakeney Manor: he had become aware, very soon after his arrival in London, that Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney were widely admired, their company sought-out, were friends, indeed, of the Prince of Wales; and he had been keen to make a good impression on them both – indeed, as he reflected ruefully, he had gone to the not-inconsiderable expense of investing in a new waistcoat and top boots for the occasion! ― and now here he was, standing over his host, who was bleeding, apparently quite freely; and Lady Blakeney – for whom he was fast developing a passion, whose beauty at close quarters was even more stunning than he could have realised – was shocked, distressed and white-faced as a result of his actions! He had visions of having to pack his bags and effect a shamed retreat – of having to explain to all and sundry how he had stabbed Sir Percy Blakeney – of being blamed, condemned, perhaps even ostracised: God forbid the wound healed badly; perhaps even refused to heal – became infected – gangrenous... His mind was in a whirl of panic; knowing all the while that these things were improbable, he could not calm his thoughts. He heard, as if at some distance, Lady Blakeney speaking quietly to her husband: "Are you sure it is nothing serious? Will you let me see it, please?" and he stared, speechless, as Sir Percy pulled the rent linen aside and Lady Blakeney looked at the wound.

She appeared to be reassured and although as he looked at the couple, their heads so close together, O'Dowd could not hear the words murmured between them – oh for such intimacy! he thought, with such a woman! ― he guessed that Sir Percy would not consent to her entreaty that the wound should be properly dressed immediately, because she unpinned her fichu – exposing a creamy _décolletage_ to which his eyes were irrestistibly drawn - and tied it around her husband's arm. "More tightly, please, sweetheart", he heard Sir Percy say; "it will stop the bleeding." And he actually saw the kiss which passed between them, before Sir Percy turned to him, none the worse – thank God! he thought – for the injury, and addressed him: "No real harm done, O'Dowd, do not fear. You must not be easier on me now! Odd's life, I am truly out of practice! You must not be easier on me – you must not give me any quarter!"

He finally found his voice: "I am heartily glad to hear that you are not seriously hurt, Sir Percy, most truly; I would never have forgiven myself if I had really wounded you, and I hope that _you_ will forgive me."

"No forgiveness required, O'Dowd, I promise you, no apologies necessary!"

He now turned to his hostess: "Lady Blakeney, I am thoroughly ashamed that I caused you such anxiety; I am truly sorry!"

"As my husband says, there is no real harm done, Mr O'Dowd, and there is no need to reproach yourself. It was partly my fault in any case, stealing in without warning: I had not realised that it would distract either of you and that I should not interrupt you. Sir Percy is keen to practise as much as possible whilst you are with us and I shall not linger here, but allow you to return to your studies" – here she smiled teasingly at her husband before concluding, "I shall look forward to your company, gentlemen, at dinner." Percy and O'Dowd swept deep bows and she walked the length of the gallery, her skirts rustling softly as she moved, her husband's eyes and his guest's on the sway of her hips, and with not another look backwards she left the room.

Both men exhaled; in Percy's case, a sigh of wry amusement at having been so easily distracted by his wife's presence; in O'Dowd's, after such an escape, a sigh of relief admixed with suppressed desire for his host's wife. The thought of Lady Blakeney's fichu ― still warm from her own skin ― around her husband's arm, for all the world like his courtly love's garter bestowed as a favour on a knight before a mediaeval joust, unsettled him, and he wondered if Sir Percy would now drive against him even harder than before, to redress the balance and prove his supremacy.

They checked the buttons on their swords and took up position again.

" _En garde_!"


End file.
